


Before and After Hours

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:45:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of the war, Dumbledore ships Harry off to Romania.  Harry is not impressed and finds that he is in Charlie's care until further notice.</p>
<p><b>Excerpt:</b>  <i>He'd not put any shorts on.  He was <i>naked</i> under there.  What was more, the laces just barely met when he tied them off at the top and Harry could almost, if he squinted just enough, <i>see</i> a bit of what was undeniably his cock right there.</i></p>
<p>
  <i>"They are rather tight," Charlie commented, causing Harry to jump with a start and lift his eyes up to meet Charlie's somewhat guiltily.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before and After Hours

Some days he really hated Albus Dumbledore, while others he tolerated him and tried to understand why the wizard treated him as he did.

Today was one of the days where he hated Albus Dumbledore quite a lot, really.

He resented that he'd gotten shipped off to Romania in the middle of the night without an explanation or the chance to say goodbye to Ron and Hermione - or even tell them where he was going - just because Dumbledore had said so. They would worry; he knew they would. 

How could they not?

Last night they'd all been huddled together in some cave on the side of a mountain just outside Ilfracombe resting up for an attack the following morning on a small camp of Death Eaters Tonks had discovered the previous day. Harry had waited until Ron and Hermione drifted off to sleep until the thought of slumber even remotely crossed his mind. He couldn't go to sleep first; he'd never been able to do that. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he thought he'd fall asleep first and wake up through the night and discover that they'd left him. Somewhere deep down he knew this fear was silly, not to mention completely unwarranted. But the fear was real and it was there. His parents had left him and Sirius had left him. Ron and Hermione had been a part of his life more than his mum, dad, and Sirius had been combined. They _were_ his life. If something happened to them, he didn't know how he would cope. When Ron began to mumble and draped his arm across Harry's middle and Hermione began to snore softly on his other side, he grinned, feeling comforted somehow, and cleared his mind, ready to drift off for what little bit of sleep he could manage before it was time to move. 

He'd just began to settle into that heavy sense of turning into himself when a pair of hands gently but urgently shook his shoulders.

Eyes opened blearily and then his mouth had scrunched up into a scowl. 

Snape. 

Just the person he wanted to see at half-ridiculous-o'clock in the morning while he was all curled up with his best friends. Ha.

Although he had been want to screw his eyes shut and pretend his former Potions teacher wasn't standing there looking highly displeased (as if he had ever seen Snape look anything but), he had resigned himself to the fact that Snape, no matter how much he wanted him to, would not go away.

"What?" he had grumbled in a low voice, struggling to sit up without disturbing Ron and Hermione.

"There is no time for foolish questions or insolence, Potter," Snape had returned acidly, not bothering to lower his own voice. "Get up. Your Portkey is only good for a few moments and it would behoove you not to miss it."

Harry had scrambled to his feet and stepped over his friends' sleeping forms, grabbing his rucksack before falling into step beside Snape as he led the way to the back of the cramped cave. "Where--" 

"I said," Snape had interrupted smoothly, one brow lifting in a sort of mockery, "that your Portkey was only of use for a few moments, Potter, yet here you are attempting to demand answers of me. Are you simply deaf or has your idiocy finally consumed you?"

Harry had glared at Snape then, clenching down hard on his teeth so as not to both lose his temper at the man and wake Ron and Hermione. Averting his eyes, he had stared hard at his trainers, willing himself not to explode, when he caught site of a crushed can from a fizzy drink. That had to be the Portkey, he decided. And just as Snape began to repeat his insulting question, Harry stooped down defiantly and laid his hand on the can. In an instant, he felt that familiarly uncomfortable hook-behind-the-navel-jerk sensation and his feet left the ground. Wind and a myriad of colours sped past him as he moved forward at an uncomfortably fast rate and then his feet slammed hard down onto the ground.

He was there.

Where ever 'there' was. 

He had been incredibly disoriented right after landing, blinking and rubbing his temple. It had only just begun to occur to him that he didn't quite know where the Portkey had taken him or what he should do when a familiar face popped into view. Charlie Weasley.

That meant he was in Romania.

Charlie had welcomed him and immediately escorted him to his tent, telling him to pick a room and have a lie down and that he'd answer questions in the proper morning.

And that was how Harry found himself to be in Romania.

After Charlie bade him good night, he didn't sleep a wink. Instead, he tossed and turned and cursed Dumbledore's name, wondering if Charlie even really knew why he was there.

When he'd turned for the 72nd time (he'd been counting), Harry decided that enough was _enough_ and he was going to go out and investigate things. Just to be safe, he dug his invisibility cloak out of his rucksack before ducking out of the tent. As Hermione always said, it was better to be safe than sorry. He hadn't heard of any fighting making it's way out of Britain, but he wasn't exactly sure all the same that there weren't other tents filled with Charlie's co-workers nearby. If Dumbledore had gone through the trouble of arranging a Portkey for him, he'd best take pains to take care until he knew the coast was clear.

Safe and undetectable to the naked eye from under the gossamer fabric of the cloak, Harry walked around the perimeter of Charlie's camp. The lack of other tents was...interesting; he couldn't decide if he was surprised or not by it. In the distance he could just make out some sort of paddock - it definitely wasn't big enough to house full-grown dragons; perhaps drakes (or were they simply called baby dragons, Harry wondered) were kept there until they were large enough to be released into the general population at the reserve. He made a mental note to ask Charlie if he could see Norbert while he was there and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat that rose with the thought. Thinking of Norbert only reminded him of Hagrid. They'd lost Hagrid a few months ago; he had gone to the giants again to plead with them to take a side and been killed by one of his own.

The sun began to rise and Harry figured he ought to head back to the tent. Surely Charlie would be up and checking on him soon.

Doubling back, Harry rubbed tiredly at his eyes; maybe he'd be able to actually fall asleep. That would be nice.

But what would be even nicer, he decided as his eyes fell upon what could only be a washing area, judging from the pipes leading up into the structure from the ancient-looking tap beside it, would be a warm shower. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper shower. Cleaning Charms were awfully handy but they weren't nearly as efficient - and soothing - as the real thing.

Looking forward to getting some of the grime out of his pores, Harry pushed open the door to the washing area and stepped inside. Inwardly he grinned at the sight that greeted him; it strongly reminded him of the Gryffindor Quidditch team's changing room. There were a few rows of lockers with benches in between each one. To the right was a hamper for dirty towels and to the left was a small corridor leading to the showers. When he'd approached the rickety-looking building, Harry had figured the inside would be tiny and cramped. He chuckled softly under his breath as he shuffled off toward the showers; by now he should have been used to expecting things to be unlike what they appeared. 

Lost in thoughts of Ron and Hermione and wondering if anyone was telling them right now where he'd gone, Harry rounded a dividing wall (meant for the privacy of those in the shower from people on the other side) and then abruptly stopped in his tracks.

How he had failed to hear the running water of the shower, Harry didn't know. But he had. The water was running, oh yes. Running all over a very wet and very fit Charlie Weasley. His hands were against the wall and his head tilted down as the spray pounded against his neck, the water running down his muscled back and over his sculpted arse in rivulets. 

_Oh God._

He should look away. He should definitely look away.

But he couldn't.

Freckles ran in the Weasley family and Harry'd been looking at freckled Weasleys for years now. But he'd never seen _so many_ freckles on one Weasley before. Charlie had a healthy smattering of them on his face but they didn't even compare with the number Harry saw on his back. It was the first time Harry'd ever seen him shirtless (or naked, for that matter) and he sucked in a breath, willing himself not to make a noise to give himself away. 

Harry loved Weasley freckles. They were ginger and generously distributed on all Weasleys and Harry equated all things Weasley with warmth and comfort. 

And if the amount of freckles on a Weasley determined how much warmth and comfort they could provide? Charlie was the most generous of the lot.

He had so many freckles on his back, on his arse, and on his legs that, had he not known any better, Harry would have sworn he had a tan. 

Just then Harry decided he quite liked the tanned-and-freckled look. A lot.

Charlie was shorter than his brothers and a bit broader, stocky even. It probably was for the best that he was built like he was, considering he did all that physical work with the dragons and all. 

Come to think of it, maybe that _was_ a tan, Harry thought. Maybe he should get a bit closer for a better look. And what was that mark just below his right shoulder? There was a thin mark, perhaps two inches wide, that clearly wrapped around to his front, that was reddish and shrunken, obviously healed over, that withered away from a thin halo of healthy pale skin around it, the pale skin blurring out to feather and fade into the abundantly-freckled skin covering his defined back.

Curiosity now piqued, Harry edged toward the shower. At the precise moment he took a step forward, Charlie withdrew his hands from the wall and turned around under the spray, tipping his head back and allowing the water to over his face, eyes closed.

Harry's eyes immediately run down Charlie's frame. The mark he'd seen on his back did indeed curve to the front, dipping just below his breastbone. Lower still Harry's eyes roamed, dancing over a thin trail of ginger hairs low on his stomach, stopping when they set sight on Charlie's cock. Charlie's thick and erect cock.

_Oh fuck._

He _really_ ought to get out of there.

In his haste to leave as quickly as possible, Harry stumbled over the hem of his cloak and fell arse-backwards to the ground, revealing his presence in a rather spectacular manner to Charlie in the process.

"Harry?"

Charlie sounded surprised and Harry couldn't blame him. 

Mortified and resigned, he coughed and pulled his cloak off the rest of the way, bunching it up into a ball and holding it against his chest as he got to his feet.

"Yeah," he murmured, unable to look Charlie in the eye.

The spray cut off and then Charlie was beside him, making it impossible for Harry not to look at him. 

"Everything all right?" Charlie asked, rubbing at his hair with a towel and then wrapping it around his waist.

"Er..." _No, not really. Snape made me take a Portkey in the middle of the fucking night just because Dumbledore said so and my best mates are likely in a scuffle with Death Eaters right now and I'm off here in the middle of damned Romania and not in the middle of the scuffle beside Ron and Hermione where I ought to be and I've just had a stare at your cock that lasted much longer than any normal 'bloke sizing up another bloke's cock' sort of stare ought to be._ "Yeah, mostly."

Charlie grinned, then clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. He jumped and then offered a weak smile as an apology. "Just a bit jumpy from the, er, Portkey."

"Dead nasty form of transport, Portkeys are," Charlie said sympathetically, turning Harry round and steering him out toward the changing area. "C'mon, mate. Let me get dressed and then I'll give you the run-down on how things work around here."

Beyond grateful that Charlie wasn't hacked off at him, Harry followed him down one of the rows of lockers and sat on the bench while Charlie opened his up and pulled out his clothing. It was all an ashy sort of colour and there were bumps here and there. 

"What is that?" Harry asked curiously, pointing to the neatly-stacked garments on the bench.

"This?" Charlie asked, holding up a pair of trousers.

Harry nodded.

"This is Tebo hide. Everything I wear when I go out in the field is made from it."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "What's that?" he said, pink colouring his cheeks a bit. From the tone Charlie had used while answering him, he figured it was something he, as a wizard, ought to know about and felt foolish that he didn't.

Charlie sat down on the other side of the clothes and leaned over, sticking his feet in his trousers. "A Tebo is a sort of warthog, which is why there're all these things that look like pock-marks on the hide," he explained, standing and pulling the trousers up his calves and over his knees. "They're mostly in Zaire and around the Congo, although I did pick this kit up in Egypt the last time we'd all went to visit Bill there. Cost me a bloody fortune, too, cos Tebos can make themselves invisible and that means they're a bugger to catch. Tebo hide's nearly the best thing out there for protective clothing and you have three guesses as to why I'm in the market for that sort of thing." Charlie grinned again, yanking the trousers up over his hips. Harry was about to ask if Tebo hide was used for anything else but the words died on his lips when Charlie started lacing up the fly of those ashy trousers.

He'd not put any shorts on. He was _naked_ under there. What was more, the laces just barely met when he tied them off at the top and Harry could almost, if he squinted just enough, _see_ a bit of what was undeniably his cock right there.

"They are rather tight," Charlie commented, causing Harry to jump with a start and lift his eyes up to meet Charlie's somewhat guiltily.

"Er...?"

"The trousers," Charlie chuckled, taking his shirt off of the pile and shaking it out before pulling it over his head. "So's the shirt. It all is, actually, because you want the hide to be as close to your skin as possible for maximum protection." After shoving his arms through his sleeves, he took up a short waistcoat with odd-looking buttons. "These are fire crab claw buttons," he commented after catching Harry's curious gaze. "Their shells can stand up to nearly anything, particularly fire for obvious reasons."

"Oh," Harry said, embarrassed still at being caught again looking at Charlie in places he ought not be looking. While Charlie pulled on some socks and boots, he busied himself with folding up his invisibility cloak.

"You look about Jimsom Jigger's size. I bet he's got an extra kit in his locker you can have. Not like he'll be needing it, seeing as how everyone's been moved north save for me and two or three of the new hatchlings," Charlie said, tilting his head as he pulled the laces on his boot tight.

"What?"

"If you're going out in the field with me, Harry, you're going to have to make sure you've got the gear on," Charlie said. "I'm to watch over you for a few days until Dumbledore can come in from where ever he's at; I don't think he or the rest of the Order will take too kindly to my allowing you to get burnt to a crisp." He shut his locker and jerked his chin toward the end of the aisle. "C'mon."

Thankful that Charlie was the first to bring up the subject of Dumbledore, Harry gladly followed him to Jimsom Jigger's locker. "Dumbledore?" he said, trying to sound casual and failing. "He's coming here? D'you know why I'm here, then?"

Handing him a kit from the messy locker, Charlie frowned. "I'm afraid not, Harry," he said slowly. "All I know is that you were to be sent here and that Dumbledore would arrive one week from today with further instructions as to what you were to do. And since I'm still technically a dragon trainer first and an Order member second, I'm going to do my best to combine the two jobs and keep an eye on you while I tend to the dragons. For me to do both of those things at once, I'm going to have you be my assistant until Dumbledore gets here." He gave Harry an apologetic look. "Sorry I don't know more. But at least you're somewhere safe."

Despite the concern in Charlie's voice and the regret that he couldn't give him more information visible in his eyes, Harry's blood positively boiled.

"Somewhere SAFE?" he bellowed. "SO I'M HERE IN ROMANIA AWAY FROM THE THICK OF IT ALL AND RON AND HERMIONE AND TONKS AND EVERYONE ELSE IS OUT THERE GETTING INTO IT WITH DEATH EATERS AND DUMBLEDORE WON'T LET ME KNOW ANY MORE THAN I'M JUST TO BE HERE AND FUCKING WAIT FOR HIM TO HAVE HIS FILL OF LEMON DROPS AND POP OVER?"

Apparently used to loud outbursts (he had lived in a house with Molly and Ron, after all), Charlie let Harry rant and rave a few minutes, waiting until he paused for breathe to cut in. "I know it's shite. Believe me, I do. But I'm not the one you're hacked off at and railing at me isn't going to fix anything or put you back in the fray of things," Charlie said calmly, holding a hand up placatingly. "The best thing to do, for now, is to put that kit on and come outside. It'll do you some good to get some sun and not worry about looking over your shoulder every other minute."

Scowling, Harry grudgingly toed off his trainers and shucked his jeans before plopping onto the bench, pulling the Tebo hide trousers over his feet and up his legs. 

"You might want to take those shorts off, mate," Charlie said, wandering back to where his locker was and picking up his dirty towel.

Cheeks mottling red, Harry pretended to not have heard him and tugged the trousers up the rest of the way. Well, most of the rest of the way. The hide sort of stuck fast against his skin; he had to practically _roll_ it up his legs. It didn't seem to want to go up over his shorts, although Harry did try. He managed to get almost to the tops of his thighs but his shorts bunched up beneath the Tebo hide.

_Shite._

Seemed as though Charlie was right after all. 

Harry struggled getting the trousers down and off and then removed his shorts, being careful to have his back facing Charlie while he put the kit trousers back on. While he was buttoning up the waistcoat, Charlie's shoulder bumped his as he moved around Harry to get to the hamper, tossing his towel inside.

"All ready, Harry?" he asked, clapping his hands together.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, shoving his hand in an inner pocket of the short jacket, "I am."

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**

The young dragons that been left behind while the others had been moved, Charlie explained, were all sickly. It was up to him to medicate and care for them, basically nurse them back to health so they could join the rest of the herd.

At first Harry wasn't so sure he was going to like going out into the paddock and spending nearly every waking daylight hour with the hatchlings. They smelled rather odd and made baleful shrieks that caused Harry's ears to pop at least twenty times an hour. Charlie explained that they were calling out for their mothers but Harry didn't give a toss; he just wanted them to shut up and give him a bit of peace. But seeing how careful and kind Charlie was with the babies pulled at something inside Harry. It was obvious that he loved his job; he was constantly talking to the dragons, rubbing their scaly hides, giving them treats and soothing them after he'd inject them with potions as black as tar (and twice as thick).

The first night after a long day's work out in the field, Charlie suggested they fly around the camp ground to unwind. Harry protested that he didn't have a broom but Charlie came swiftly to the rescue; there was a cupboard for vital supplies attached to the washing area and apparently a wide variety of racing brooms were a vital supply at the reserve.

Harry commented as much and Charlie threw back his head, laughing heartily. 

"Officially, we have them for rounding up stray dragons or to go in and break up any scuffles," he said, eyes shining, "but _un_ officially, they're here so we lot can have pick-up Quidditch scrums after hours." Tossing Harry a Cleansweep Thirteen, he winked and then mounted his Nimbus 2001.

It had been _months_ since Harry had been on a broom; he didn't need to be coaxed at all into climbing on and joining Charlie in the air. 

Hovering a few feet off the ground with his hands gripping the smooth wood, Harry laughed a deep, giddy laugh from deep in his belly. And for one glorious moment, he felt free. And free was a wonderful feeling. Tipping the handle up a bit, Harry rose to where Charlie was already circling and quickly outstripped him, zigzagging and diving and rolling and skimming the trees like he hadn't a care in the world. Charlie called up to him more than once that he was being a show-off but Harry didn't give a toss. Having the air whip through his hair and that rush of adrenaline through his veins was the most brilliant sensation he'd had in yonks and he intended to enjoy every second of it. It reminded him of just how precious life was, how precious _living_ was and how they _had_ to win. They had to win to preserve this, to preserve the state of living and being. _He_ had to win for them all.

They could have been flying for days, although Harry was inclined to think it was merely an hour or two, when Charlie flew up beside him and said they ought to land. Nodding, Harry descended slowly, kicking on the tail of his broom and resting the handle against his shoulder while Charlie touched down.

"Thanks," he said with a grin. "That was brilliant."

"Don't mention it," Charlie said as they head back to the supply cupboard. After the brooms were back in place, he performed a Locking Charm (out of habit, he said) and they doubled back to their tent. "You cold?" he asked Harry out of the blue.

"Me?" Harry laughed and shook his head. "Sorry, of course you meant me. Er, I guess I am a little from the wind. Why?"

Charlie nodded and opened the flap for Harry. "Thought so; your cheeks are a bit raw, although I imagine mine are, too." Heading into the kitchen, he kept up a steady stream of chatter. "Warming Charms do wonders but I've always been a firm believer in the power of Ogden's Old Firewhisky." He opened a cupboard and produced a bottle and two glasses, pouring a bit of the stuff in each glass, offering one to Harry. "You game?"

Was he ever game.

"Yeah," Harry said hoarsely, accepting the glass and taking a sip of the warm liquid. The alcohol burnt his throat going down and he coughed, feeling a heat rise in his cheeks.

"Easy there, mate," Charlie laughed, clapping him on the back again. "Got to take this stuff slow, no matter how much of a seasoned drinker you are."

"Just thirsty," Harry murmured sheepishly, then joined Charlie in laughter. 

They both drained their glasses a few times before retiring to the common area of the tented flat, lounging on squashy settees that reminded Harry of the Gryffindor common room. His leaving ceremony had only been a little bit over a year ago but some days it seemed like an eternity. But right then the reminder of Gryffindor was so intense that he could have sworn he'd just been sitting in his favourite chair by the fireplace playing a rather nasty game of wizard's chess against Ron. Except he hadn't really been doing that yesterday. Yesterday he'd spent the bulk of his day hiding out in a forest looking for a place for his team to hide out while they waited for word from Tonks on the rumoured presence of Death Eaters in the area.

"Harry?"

Charlie's concerned voice snapped him out of his reverie. "What?" he asked, gripping on an armrest as he tried to sit up straighter in his seat.

"I said," Charlie repeated, "I've been keeping up with the League games, if you'd like to know what's been going on with the Cannons and all while you've been out with the others."

"Of course I'd like to know," Harry said instantly, his heart racing at the very thought of just talking about good old fashioned Quidditch scores and League gossip. God, it was something _normal_. "What about Jenkins?" he asked eagerly, placing one hand on his knee and leaning in closer so he wouldn't miss a single word of Charlie's.

A smirk curved Charlie's mouth. "Is he _in_?" Charlie snorted, a look of disdain on his freckled features. "Let me tell you...."

For the next hour, Charlie regaled Harry with all the latest hearsay and scores; Harry could have listened to him all night, he was that entranced. But after Charlie recounted last weekend's Arrows versus Harpies match, he stood up and stretched his arms over his head. Speaking around a yawn, he said, "Time to turn in. We've got to wake up early for their feeding and medication." Harry heard one or two of Charlie's vertebrae crack back into place and he winced, which only caused Charlie to chuckle in amusement. He stuck out his hand to Harry. 

Feeling more than a little light-headed, Harry took hold of Charlie's hand gratefully, noticing how rough his hands were. But Harry supposed that shouldn't matter much as his own hands had their fair share of callouses from years of flying his broom sans gloves. Pushing off of the settee with his free hand, Harry felt a heady rush of fog in his head. God, his limbs felt like they had lead in them or something. Probably had one glass of firewhisky too many.

"Easy, easy," Charlie murmured as he helped Harry awkwardly to his feet. 

Harry blinked; his head felt incredibly heavy. Unable to stop himself, he pitched forward and would have toppled over if it hadn't been for Charlie's quick thinking. His rough hands steadied Harry's waist while Harry's knees gave out and his head fell against Charlie's shoulder. "Steady, mate!" Charlie cried, shaking him a little.

"Sorry," Harry slurred, head beginning to pound. 

"It's all right," Charlie said, helping him to straighten. "Sleep it off; you'll feel better in the morning."

"Sleep it off," Harry repeated faintly as a bright blackness came rushing at him. He began to fall forward again, the sensation snapping him to attention. Before he could crumble onto the ground, his hands found Charlie's, covering them and pushing them onto his waist for leverage, his face mashing into the side of Charlie's own, lips quite connecting with half of Charlie's mouth.

Through the drunken haze, Harry realised how very bad this was and jerked back instantly.

"Sorry," he mumbled again, turning on his heel and lumbering off for his room. He was sure he was as red as a damned tomato.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**

Neither Harry nor Charlie brought up what had happened that first night. They went about their business as if nothing had happened, rising early every morning to head out to the paddock with the dragons and spending every evening flying and getting more than a bit pissed before turning in for the night.

It was a pretty good couple of days, although Harry did wonder how Ron and Hermione were. There hadn't been any owls or even a head or two popping in the fireplace of Charlie's tent. At first this worried Harry but then he figured that no news was good news. If something horrid had happened to them, there would have been some sort of notice.

And so, with the idea that Ron and Hermione were all right prominent in his mind, Harry freed himself to enjoy his time with Charlie. The two got on very well, having a great deal in common, the least of those things being that they had both been Gryffindor Seekers and prone to earning a tonne of detentions from Snape back in the day. Although Charlie's priority and responsibility was to stay there with the dragons, Harry sort of wished that, when Dumbledore arrived to send him where ever it was he was going, Charlie could come along with him. He was a formidable wizard in his own right and would be dead useful out fighting for the cause.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**

Much like he had the first morning he'd arrived in Romania, later in the week Harry decided to have a walk around the camp's perimeter before Charlie woke up. After pulling on his Tebo hide kit, Harry drank a quick cup of tea to wake himself up and snuck outside, breathing in the fresh air and making his way east. When the sun began to rise, Harry went back the way he came. If he hurried, he could beat Charlie to the shower and then go fix him his own cuppa and some toast before they made their way out to the paddock.

Whistling the only song he knew how ("God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs," which Sirius had taught him at 12 Grimmauld Place during Christmas hols of his fifth year), Harry jogged the last leg of the trek to the washing area and pushed the door open. After grabbing a fresh towel out of his locker, Harry kicked off his loosely-tied boots and lifted one leg up and then the other so he could peel off his socks before heading back to the shower. It was habit for him to go to the showers and sling his towel over a pipe before going back to the bench and undressing; he hated nothing more than getting done with his shower and discovering that he'd left his towel behind and thus took precautions to make sure that never happened.

Having hooked his towel on a pipe where it wouldn't get wet, Harry turned around and came face-to-face with Charlie. 

"You're up earlier than I thought you'd be," Harry said, laughing nervously after having gasped at the sudden sight of him.

"You're up just when I thought you'd be," Charlie countered good-naturedly.

Playing that sentence over in his mind a few times, trying to work out just what Charlie meant, Harry dropped his gaze. And nearly choked.

Charlie, as it turned out, was incredibly naked.

_Oh._

_It is the shower. Nothing usual about that._

Nodding to himself, satisfied with that line of thinking, Harry cleared his throat and looked up, grinning. "I'll let you to it, then," he said, moving to step around Charlie.

"Where are you going?" Charlie frowned, capturing Harry's wrist in his hand.

"Er..." Harry wasn't sure what was going on. All he knew was that his tight Tebo hide trousers suddenly felt tighter than usual. 

Was it his imagination, or had Charlie's thumb just brushed along the underside of his wrist?

"I can't get to it if you leave, Harry," Charlie said pointedly, giving him a grin that Harry realised after a beat was more than a little predatory.

"I. Er." 

"Remember the other night?" Charlie asked slowly, his free hand taking hold of Harry's other wrist. 

"Yeah," Harry rasped, willing the heat in his groin to just go _away_. Whatever Charlie was trying to do, Harry was sure it wasn't meant to do...what it was doing to him. 

"I've been thinking about it," confided Charlie in a confidential whisper, moving in and leaving Harry no choice but to back up. "And I've been wondering what would have happened if you hadn't missed your target."

Harry's back hit the wall, his head bounding off of the stones. Blinking, he then gave Charlie a blank look. "Missed my target?"

"You hit me here...." Charlie leaned in and brushed his lips to the corner of Harry's mouth. "But I think you really meant to land here...." Pressing his stocky frame against Harry's, he lowered his mouth to his, running his tongue along Harry's lower lip, coaxing it to open.

_Did I....? No, I didn't--_

_Yes, I missed. I missed and if I hadn't been so stinking pissed, I would have full-out snogged him._

The realisation that he'd _wanted_ to snog Charlie back on that first night dawned on him and he knew full well that Charlie was indeed meaning to do what he was to Harry. 

And Harry liked it.

Just as he opened to Charlie, the older man pulled back, smirking at the disappointment that was evident on Harry's face.

"Just a mo," he said, licking Harry's ear and reaching around him to turn on the tap - just the hot, ignoring the cold - all the way, the room quickly filling up with steam. And then the water ran over them both, sluicing over Charlie's bare skin and soaking Harry's Tebo hide kit, causing it to stick fast to his skin. But he didn't mind in the least because then Charlie was kissing him again, water running down their faces and falling into their opening and closing mouths like rain. There was a faint cinnamon taste shining through the metallic tang of the tap water that was very Charlie and Harry couldn't stand it; he had to touch him. His hands settled on Charlie's broad chest, moving down to the right to touch the slippery smooth skin from the gash Harry learnt he'd gotten during his first year of dragon taming from an enraged Hungarian Horntail. The ache in his cock was unbearable; it was straining against the laces of his trousers and getting harder by the moment because Charlie kept nipping at his throat and grabbing his arse and _oh fuck_ he kept grinding against him and making the most wonderful little sounds--

For the second time in only a matter of minutes, Charlie pulled back and gave him a bit of a smirk. 

"What're you--" Harry panted.

"Wait," Charlie returned with more than a hint of promise in his voice as he fell to his knees before him. 

Curious, Harry pressed his palms against the wall behind him and glanced down at Charlie, wondering just what--

_Nghhhhhhohhhhhhh._

In addition to being a skilled dragon-handler and broom-flier, it would seem that Charlie was also rather excellent at undoing fly laces with his teeth. His hands slid up and down Harry's thighs as he slowly leaned his upper body back away from Harry, one end of the fly lace grasped firmly in his teeth, causing the fly on Harry's trousers to become looser and looser until he'd completely undone the tie.

Harry's cock wasted no time in taking advantage of the extra room, for it sprang even more so to attention than it had before. He groaned in appreciation, which make Charlie glide his hands up higher. His fingers curled around the fly's placket and peeled it back enough so that Harry's cock could escape. 

The next thing Harry knew, Charlie's lips were wrapped around his cock and his eyes nearly bulged right out of his head. 

_God._

It felt fucking fantastic. He felt a thousand times freer than he did the first night at camp on that broom. He felt _so_ much that he was ready to burst. There was suction and a combination of curling-tracing-nipping-flicking that drove him absolutely mad with desire.

Unable to help it, Harry thrust shallowly into Charlie's mouth, fisting his hands into his hair. Vaguely he was aware that Charlie's hands were rolling his trousers down his hips and inching down his legs, but that seemed neither here nor there because of all the fucking fantastic cocksucking that was going on. Well, it seemed neither here nor there until one of Charlie's fingers slipped into the back of him. Harry grunted, startled, and took less than a second to figure out that he ought to start rocking. And rock he did, for he'd drive his cock further into the wet cavern of Charlie's mouth and then snap his hips back forcefully onto Charlie's finger- no, finger _s_ and shite he was feeling so much that it was becoming unbearable, hot water all the while pounding down onto them. 

"Bugger," Harry moaned loudly as Charlie's tongue pushed against his slit.

"Bugger we will," Charlie murmured in response, standing up and spinning Harry round to face the wall. "Hands above your head," he commanded, his breath warm against Harry's ear.

Feeling randy and more than a little cheeky, Harry smirked a smirk that Charlie, unfortunately, wouldn't be able to see. "Which head?" he asked coyly.

"Cheeky prig," Charlie scolded, rewarding Harry with a slap on an arse cheek for his, well, cheek.

Harry hissed and thrust his arse back toward Charlie. Repeating his earlier words, he ground out, "I'll let you to it, then."

"My mum always said you were the polite sort," Charlie said approvingly as he nudged Harry's legs further apart with his knee.

A smart retort died on his lips when Charlie's hands gripped his hips and yanked him backwards as his cock nudged at his entrance and then slid past the tight ring of muscle there to slip deep inside him. The only sound Harry could manage was a guttural moan as Charlie's cock invaded him; he could feel his muscles contract and then clench down on Charlie's girth and it was all so damned _good_. He couldn't help it; he needed to be touching Charlie at least a little. Keeping one hand on the wall for leverage, Harry reached the other back and locked a hand around the back of Charlie's neck, digging his fingers into his skin, sure to leave a mark against the Weasley freckles he appreciated now more than ever.

This seemed to encourage Charlie more, because he gasped and buried himself to the hilt, taking a moment to pant heavily in Harry's ear before starting to fuck in earnest. Apparently Charlie was a bit of a greedy bastard when it came to shagging because soon one hand left Harry's hip and began to stroke Harry's cock in time with the snapping of his hips. Harry's mouth fell open and incoherent babble was all he could manage. Tension mounting and building in his balls, he grit his teeth and kept driving his arse back against Charlie's cock and then forward into his fist, clenching down on Charlie's cock and fucking his fist and then it was too much to fast and he lost it, jerking back and forth, spilling his warm release all over Charlie's hand. 

The hot water and steam rose around them and Charlie withdrew slowly, wrapping his arms around Harry as they slid to the floor bonelessly.

Just when he reached a hand behind him to brush his fingers over Charlie's side, he heard a distinct cough coming from the other side of the dividing wall.

"Who--" Harry choked, mortified that someone had been listening to them for God only knew how long shagging.

"If you're quite done, I have things of most importance to share with you, Harry."

_Dumbledore._

Not even the fact that he'd just been good and shagged and was dead tired could stop rage from boiling in the pit of his stomach.

_It figures. Of all the times to decide to finally grace me with his presence--_

Some days, he really hated Albus Dumbledore.


End file.
